Bryan's Sorry
by BranMcmuffin
Summary: Bryan received a post on his blog from a girl he scared when he was on assignment in S.Korea. He wrote this quick letter to explain and say he was sorry.


I don't often do this, but I wanna say sorry to a certain little girl in Korea. I heard I scared you a while back when I was on assignment. I'll tell you everything that happened, because I need to explain what went down and why I had to make that big noise with the air raid siren that frightened you.

It all started (the way it always does) in my shitty trailer in the Arizona desert. I was hoping to sleep off what was going to be a massive hang over when the phone rang. And let me tell ya, it was way too goddamn early for that crap.

The dry voice on the other end was quick and direct. Yeah, it was another one of those delicate jobs that requires one part stealth and ten parts brute-unreasoning force. So naturally, I got the call.

The target was a rogue CIA official (special agent McConnel) who had gone to ground in Korea. He had been one of the masterminds behind a massive, international drug and human trafficking ring. Yep a real humanitarian.

Anyway, once he realized that heat was on, he slithered off to a safe house not far from where you live - don't worry - I won't get specific about locations. The S. Koreans didn't know anything about all the evil bullshit he was into, because (no surprise here) the American government is not exactly free and easy with information regarding their agents' behavior and/or legal status. So in good faith, the local officials believed this dick-bag's cover story and helped him to hide.

The safe house was being watched by local Korean cops. I didn't want to kill 'em all if I didn't have to, so I went to the town center and decided to create a little diversion. I think it was around 10:56 when I found the air-raid siren. I climbed up to it and popped the casing off and tied the wires together. It went off like a banshee. That fucker was REAL loud!

By the time I got back to the safe house, a lot of the cops had already gone running to check in with their superiors and were heading for emergency stations. Only a few remained and the entire back side of the house was left unguarded.

All the doors and windows were locked. How quaint. I just tore right through the back of the cinder block wall like it was wet cardboard – and there he was. Agent McConnel… I could tell he recognized me from some damn file that had come across his desk. I almost burst out laughing as he pulled his dainty little gun. An adorable sub-compact Beretta Px4. I was just wondering if it came with a matching purse when McConnel spoke. I could hear the fear... he had obviously heard the stories about me.

"Bryan – d-don't – I know who you are… yeah – and why you're here! Y-you better stay right there or… Or I'll shoot!"

I just smiled, then I grabbed the pistol along with his hand. He fired right into my palm. The bullet felt like a red-hot little bee sting, then it vanished as I turned off my pain receptors. I slowly closed my fingers and crushed the gun along with his fist into an unrecognizable ball of steel, tendons, pulverized flesh and bone fragments.

McConnel sank to his knees, screaming and gasping, white with pain, as he held the thing that used to be a gun and a hand in front of him. He looked up from the mess in his lap at me, as I picked up a few files from the desk. Then, he wheezed his last threat…

"Hhhh – Y-you fffuck – you're gonna be real sorry you ever cross –"

He didn't finish, because I slapped him. It was a pretty hard slap too. His fat head flew across the room and exploded like a rotten grapefruit against the far wall. Totally ruined the painting that hung there too. I wasn't surprised to see he was pretty light in the brains department either. McConnel never struck me as the smart type.

I could hear shit starting to happen out front. I left out of the hole I made in the back wall and lost myself in the shadows.

Anyway, much later after I got back home, I was feeling pretty good. I had just cracked open a case of top-shelf beer when my biographer, Bran McMuffin, came stormin' in. He looked all pissy – you know how those up tight British dudes get. And then he shoved his phone in my face and said.

"Bryan – I would like to know the meaning of… this!"

I looked at the phone and saw your post on my blog Theromus.

I guess I looked guilty because he really let me have it in that snotty little voice of his.

"Bryan I realize that you go all over the world to do all sorts of vile things that the government doesn't want to dirty its hands with – but now you have most certainly crossed the line! This poor, sweet child was positively terrified by your antics!"

I had to admit, I felt real bad. But I didn't say anything. Just popped my first beer as Bran stomped out of the room. But then I got your question…

So now you know the whole story. While it explains what happened – it doesn't change the fact that I scared you. The world is a shitty enough place without spreadin' that crap to the good people. Hey – don't get me wrong – I love my work and wiping out creeps like McConnel gives me a deep sense of satisfaction. But I am real sorry I pulled that siren, if I could go back and do it over – I would definitely find another solution.

Sincerely,

Bryan Fury


End file.
